The World Past the Window
by MistressNyx
Summary: The Multiverse is a web of worlds and realms, Gods and mortals, Fate and chaos. When a window is opened, the Harry Potter universe is thrown into the struggle to understand what is good…and what is evil. Some R/Hr (and other people) romance.


Title: The World Past the Window  
  
Author: K. Webb (i.e. Mistress_Nyx)  
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
Genre: Action/Adventure, Supernatural, Angst, Romance  
  
Pairings: Ron/Hermione (with a touch of Harry angst over this), Original Character/Original Character, Voldemort/Original Character (sort of)  
  
Summary: The Multiverse is a web of worlds and realms, Gods and mortals, Fate and chaos. When a window is opened, the Harry Potter universe is thrown into the struggle to understand what is good.and what is evil.  
  
Themes: Gods, multiple universes, good vs. evil, first love, sexual discovery, eternal love, immortality, identity. *looks at what she's just written* Whoa.deep stuff.  
  
A/N: This is my second Harry Potter fiction. I usually stick with the anime or original poetry sections, but here I am. ^^; This is a story involving two original characters and the HP characters. Don't worry, they aren't perfect at every thing.  
  
Each chapter has an excerpt from a poem at its beginning. Please note that they are not mine.  
  
I love C/C! If you have any nitpicks (i.e. spelling, grammar, OOC complaints, or such) feel free to tell me! I try to spell as well as possible, because I know how annoying it is to pick through mis-types, misspellings, and blatant grammatical errors. Flames will be laughed at, unless they hold some sort of point. Good reviews will give me strength to continue. For the love of cheese, write a review!  
  
Disclaimer: Harry Potter does not belong to me. It is copyright of Warner Brothers Studios and J.K. Rowling. Edward Thomas's poem, "Good Night" is also not mine, though I have no clue whose it is, as the poet himself is dead. However, the two original characters ARE mine. Please do not use them.  
  
  
  
1.1 The World Past the Window: Chapter One  
  
  
  
2 "But the call of children in the unfamiliar streets  
  
That echo with a familiar twilight echoing,  
  
Sweet as the voice of a nightingale or lark, completes  
  
A magic of strange welcome, so that I seem a king."  
  
-Edward Thomas "Good Night"  
  
The night was still. It was dark, as if an enormous black curtain was smothering the earth. The sky was over-cast and the moon was but a small sliver. Insects were chirping lazily, and the breeze stirred the leaves slightly. The forest floor was moist, and its fallen plants shone silvery with the pale light. Somewhere, from the distant, hulking, mountains, a faint wolf howl penetrated the silence.  
  
Suddenly, a bright pinprick of light shone out through the sky. It grew larger, until a scene could be seen behind it. It was almost as if the night was a postcard and a bit of a sunlit picture had been pasted on. The tear grew, and two figures became visible. One was wielding an intricate sword, silver, with an emerald set in the hilt. The person, who was a woman, stepped through the hole and waved her hand impatiently. A man stepped through, massively tall and muscular. He cast a wistful look at the sunlight behind him.  
  
"There's no use being sentimental about it," the woman snapped in a harsh whisper. "We have to move on."  
  
"I wasn't being sentimental and you damn well know it. I'm not that sort of person. Don't take your anger out on me."  
  
The woman sighed heavily. "I'm sorry. I'm just.just."  
  
"Miserable?" the man offered.  
  
"For lack of a better word, yes. I am."  
  
The man grinned. "Best be closing this off now, eh?" he said.  
  
She sighed again. "Yes, I'm getting there." She held her sword up to the tear in the world and gently tugged the corners together. As she re- sheathed the sword, there was a dim flash of blue light as the gap sealed, and the forest was immersed in darkness once more.  
  
The woman raised her fingers and muttered, "We need some light." A ball grew onto her palm and a small area was brightly illuminated. She blinked her brilliant blue eyes several times to adjust them, then set the ball on the ground. Sitting down next to it, she rested her chin in her hands.  
  
The woman was tall, with golden hair and blue eyes. Her features were rather too sharp to be beautiful or even very attractive and her chin was very pointed. An X-shaped pale scar resided on her gaunt cheek and another scar-a small line-on her forehead. She was dressed in a sort of thigh- length kimono, cream colored with a thin black sash and no sleeves. Long gloves hugged her arms up to her shoulders and she wore boots up to her knees. A pendant, constantly swirling blue, white, and green, hung from her neck on a silver chain.  
  
"So, Kaze," said the man. "We are here."  
  
Kaze fixed her eyes on the glowing ball. "Yes," she remarked vaguely. "We are."  
  
The man sighed exasperatedly. "I've told you not to dwell on-"  
  
"I know!" she cut in sharply. "Tomorrow we will find out where to look for her. Good night." With a wave of her hand, she conjured up a thick blanket and extinguished the light.  
  
The man sat silently for a moment, then lay down next to Kaze and held her to him. Wordlessly, she nestled into his chest, and soon fell asleep.  
  
*  
  
Harry Potter was anxiously awaiting September 1st. The fourteen-year- old boy (to be fifteen in exactly 24 hours) was sitting on the end of his bed skimming through The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Five by Miranda Goshawk rather nervously, as his uncle Vernon Dursley's loud, sleepy grunts sounded through the walls. He yawned and slapped the book shut, feeling rather too drowsy to continue. Besides, this year's book was exceptionally boring, provided very few useful spells and a whole load of dung on O.W.L.s, which he and the other Hogwarts students would be taking this year.  
  
Harry threw himself back on to his bed, sighing lightly. How was he going to actually get to Hogwarts this year? Vernon had flatly refused to drive him, having no other reason to go. He had no way of contacting the Weaslies, as Hedwig was at Hermione's after Dudley had snuck up on her with a pair of scissors. Harry didn't know the Granger's telephone number or address, and even if he had, it was doubtful they'd even had let him use the phone or mail someone.  
  
Harry rolled over onto his stomach. "Oh well," he muttered softly. "Worst case is I take a muggle bus to King's Cross and steal some of Dudley's coins to pay." Of course, the worst case was not getting to Hogwarts at all, but the boy preferred not to think about that. He shut his eyes to block out the unpleasant thoughts and soon fell asleep.  
  
*  
  
Hermione sleepily descended the staircase, A Young Magic-Maker's Guide to O.W.L.s clutched in her hand. The sun had refused to shine, so she felt it most tiresome to heave herself out of bed at her strict rising time of 6 am. Her parents were already downstairs, trudging about the kitchen and holding cups of tea. They had given up coffee ("Nasty addiction that ruins your teeth," they called it), but somehow they always managed to be chipper in the morning. They also got fully dressed before coming downstairs, and so the girl did the same (however unwillingly). Hermione sighed drowsily, wishing that she could be a morning person too.  
  
"'Morning Pumpkin," Mr. Granger said, flashing her a perfect white smile.  
  
"Hmn nm," she mumbled in reply and wrapped her arms around his neck, leaning over his shoulder to read the paper.  
  
"Hermy, do something about your hair! If you leave it like that it will be horrible later!" Mrs. Granger scolded, waving a spatula accusingly.  
  
Hermione released her father and ran a hand through her hair. Bushy, brown, and tangled as usual. She scowled at her mother. Of course, she had perfect hair. It was very blonde, sculpted in an elegant wave about her head. It was one of the greatest misfortunes of Hermione's life, to be stuck with her father's big hair and her mother's abnormally large teeth.  
  
"Mum, what's for breakfast," she asked, tactfully-for the morning- changing the subject.  
  
Mrs. Granger sighed, beaten. "Bacon." She gestured to the pan, where the meat was loudly sizzling. 'I'm surprised you couldn't tell by the smell.and the sound. and the sight.and the fact that I'd told you yesterday we'd have bacon today." The woman turned away, muttering something under her breath.  
  
"Don't worry about her, pumpkin. She's just learned that that cursed Ellen Powella broke about half her bands AGAIN and she has to fix them AGAIN," Hermione's father said apologetically.  
  
Hermione gave him a sympathetic look and plopped down in the chair, setting her book down as the bacon was shoved onto her plate. Suddenly, she heard a rapping on the window.  
  
"Oh!" she exclaimed. "I forgot to let Hedwig in for the morning!" Rushing to the window, she undid the latch and the owl hopped in. An envelope was clutched in her beak.  
  
"A letter?" Hermione eyed the envelope with interest.  
  
"Who is that from, dear?" asked Mr. Granger. The two muggle parents had by now gotten used to the owls that frequented their household. "Did you write anyone with Hedwig?"  
  
"Well, no." She picked up the letter, hesitated (remembering the bubotuber pus hate-mail from the last year), and tore the seal. Out fell a letter and another envelope, with a Hogwarts seal. Hermione read the letter first:  
  
Dear Hermione,  
  
I am pleased that you have made the rank of Perfect this year. Your fellow fifth-year Gryffindor Perfect is Harry, as you may be pleased to know. Fawkes told me that Hedwig has been staying at your house-tell her she has my pity about Dudley and the scissors- and that Harry has no way of getting in touch. I would advise you to owl him, just to make sure he can get to Hogwarts okay.  
  
Enjoy your Holidays!  
  
~Dumbledore  
  
"Mum! Dad! They made me a Perfect!" Hermione giggled happily. She bent over, kissed her father, hugged her mother around the middle, and dashed upstairs, the book and bacon on the table forgotten. Hedwig gave a squawk of protest and flew after her.  
  
"Per.fect?? What?" Mrs. Granger asked.  
  
Her husband shrugged, and turned his attention back to his plate, to thoughtfully munch on his breakfast.  
  
*  
  
Errol had taken ill. Pig was being used to communicate with many of Ginny's little friends. And Hermes was reserved for business-only. Ron felt utterly disconnected, since Hedwig was at Hermione's, and Harry couldn't talk to him. Sure, the girl could talk to him.but what about? School, of course, but certainly not things like pranks, Snape/Draco torture, or quidditch. He set his chin on his hand as he sat at his desk. He felt he would die of boredom before he even got back to Hogwarts! Fred and George only worked their devastating magic on their friends, Percy was being snobbish (as usual), Bill and Charlie were away, and Ginny was really no fun to talk to. Mr. and Mrs. Weasly were constantly scolding him for trying to amuse himself with such harmless things as tampering with his old broken wand and mixing various muggle technology fluids together to see what happened (he had concluded that there were three things muggle-mixes could do: nothing, fizz, or explode quite vigorously.). Therefore, with grounding, unusable owls, and one warning from the Control and Misuse of Underage Magic Committee, Ron Weasly was exceptionally bored. He couldn't wait until September 1st.  
  
*  
  
Kaze and the man were wandering along a street in London. The pair had changed into normal clothing. She was wearing a black skirt and purple blouse; he a pair of jeans and a blue shirt. The streets were alive that day, as the weather was sunny and pleasantly warm. Kaze had even allowed herself the pleasure of conjuring up some money and dining at a small pizza parlor. Still, she wore a scowl on her face.  
  
"I don't understand it, Hono'o." she murmured. "This world gives off a lot of magical energy, but I can't find it."  
  
Hono'o nodded and stared up at the sky, absent-mindedly fingering a scar that ran across his chin. He shut his black eyes momentarily, then remarked, "There's barely any physical energy though. odd." He paused. "Hey, look!"  
  
Kaze followed his gaze and saw a very dirty old bar across the street. Its windows were dusted over and its black paint peeling, but they could see the cheerful lights inside. An old fashioned sign hung over it, with the words "Leaky Cauldron" scrawled in elegant script.  
  
"Hm. It gives off a great deal of magic. And-" she gestured to the people around them, "they don't notice it. I believe we've found our portal, dear."  
  
After dodging several cars and reaching the other side, the pair stepped up to the heavy, paneled door and swung it open. The bar inside was smoky, dim, noisy, and full of very odd-looking people. Men and women in long, sweeping robes of many different colors brushed past, carrying mugs of golden-yellow beverages. Kaze flicked her fingers and instantly her and Hono'o's clothes changed to black robes. The two stepped quickly up to the bar where a rag, without a bartender, was cleaning a glass.  
  
Kaze leaned over the table and looked up and down nervously for the bartender. How were you supposed to get service here? She cleared her throat anxiously.  
  
"Oh how sorry to keep you waiting!" cried a man, bumbling out of a back room. He hastily wiped his hands on a towel and ducked under the counter to face the two. "So, what'll it be today?"  
  
Hono'o looked somewhat embarrassed. "Um.We just wanted to know-"  
  
"How to get into Diagon Alley?" the bartender interrupted knowingly. "Ah, just follow me."  
  
Hono'o stood, bewildered and blinking, until Kaze jabbed him in the ribs to follow the man. She gave him a long stare. He returned it, then nodded discreetly and jogged to catch up with the fast-moving man.  
  
"Here we are." They stopped at a plain brick wall. Kaze blinked in surprise.  
  
"Don't worry, just gotta know the bricks to touch. tap brick three from the right, eight from the bottom. That's the ticket!" As soon as the woman had done as instructed, the brick wall folded away to reveal an arch and a busy street beyond. "There ya. . .W-where's y-y-your wand?"  
  
Kaze was caught off guard. "Wand?"  
  
The bartender stumbled back in fear, quickly touched a set of different bricks, and the wall was whole once more.  
  
"I guess we ought to get ourselves some wands, eh Kaze?" said Hono'o dryly. "We can't frighten poor old men into remembering us."  
  
Kaze glared at him. "I know that, Hono'o. What's the money here?" She cast a quick look around and spotted a boy showing off a piece of gold. "Gold," she answered herself, and a searching look shone over her face. "Gold, galleons. Bronze, knuts. Silver, sickles. Hm. easy enough."  
  
The pair stepped into the busy streets. Hono'o took a deep breath. "Ah, the smell of goods." He grinned serenely.  
  
Indeed there were many goods; cauldrons, dusty old books, candy shops, clothes, bizarre jars filled with green things, they even passed an owl shop. The lane was swarming with men, women, and children, all robed and sometimes wearing pointed hats. As they strolled, Kaze was tempted to try some of the strange candies, but refrained. Important matters were important matters and they had to be done. At last, they discovered a small building with the words "Ollivander's: Makers of Fine Wands since 287 B.C." painted in fading gold letters.  
  
"I believe this is it, Kaze."  
  
She nodded in reply and pulled open the door.  
  
A faint tinkle of a bell sounded when they arrived. The light was dim and dusty and the room was small, stacked with hundreds and hundreds of long, thin boxes. The counter, which stood in front of a back storeroom, was glass and had the word "Ollivander's" enscribed on it in gold. The shelves were covered with a thick gray dust that got thicker higher up and farther back, so they looked dark gray instead of black. The floor was tiled, in a pattern that never seemed quite the same when you looked at it again. Suddenly, a thin, wrinkled, and pale old man hobbled up to the counter.  
  
"Ah," said he. "I did not expect you coming, strangers. Are you newcomers to the world of magic? Travelers? I cannot tell."  
  
Hono'o started to answer, but the man interrupted with a wave of his hand.  
  
"No need, no need." He gave them a piercing stare with his grayish eyes. "Now, you want wands, I expect. Who first?"  
  
Hono'o stepped forward, looking peeved.  
  
"Ah. What is your wand hand?"  
  
He looked at his hands and flexed them curiously, turning them over and over. With his scar flushing purple, he answered nervously, "I'm kind of ambidextirous."  
  
Mr. Ollivander raised his eyebrows. "Well, then. If you cannot tell, then give me your hand and I will."  
  
"It's his right.er, sir," interjected Kaze. "I've watched him."  
  
The man gave her a calculating glance, then turned his eyes to Hono'o's outstretched palms. "And you are right." He went off into the back room. After a couple of moments, he came out with a few boxes. Opening one, he took out a beautiful, polished stick and handed it to the bewildered Hono'o. "Here you are, yew, unicorn hair, very whippy, 13 inches. Wave it about a bit."  
  
Hono'o did as he was told, but Mr. Ollivander snatched it away. "Not right, not right at all. Here, dragon heartstring, mahogany, stiff, ten inches."  
  
When waved, it gave a little fizzle, then spurted and puffed out.  
  
"How bloody curious." the old man murmured.  
  
Kaze closed her eyes. "Dragons. of course."she thought.  
  
"Dragon heartstring, olive, pliable, thirteen inches. How 'bout it?"  
  
When Hono'o waved it, it gave off a tower of sparks, crimson red, four feet tall.  
  
Mr. Ollivander looked bewildered. "I'd say that's a match. That wand is ten galleons."  
  
Kaze extracted the previously-conjured money out of her pocket and handed it to him. "I guess it's my turn now."  
  
"Yes. What hand?"  
  
"Left."  
  
Ollivander raised an eyebrow. "Curious pair you are, you realize? Very curious."  
  
He began to gather up some boxes but Kaze bit her lip and asked, "You wouldn't happen to have any birds' wands, would you?"  
  
Mr. Ollivander gave her a glare, obviously perturbed that a customer thought she knew her needs better than he. "Yes, phoenixes. You seem to be a very bird-like person. for some reason."  
  
The man was right. Despite all Kaze's height and slenderness, she seemed very much a bird. She held her arms gracefully and her feet barely touched the ground. Her face was very pointed and her eyes so bright, that she looked as a falcon, somehow changed to human form. There was a kind of aura about her that suggested a creature of the sky.  
  
Off Mr. Ollivander went, rustling about in the back room. He left sight for a bit, and all the pair could see was clouds of dust billowing out the doorway. When the man returned, he was slightly disheveled, but he carried about ten boxes. Opening one, he took out a short, light wand.  
  
"Phoenix feather, seven inches, stiff, oak. Wave it about, eh?"  
  
Kaze gave it a short twirl and a tiny sputter of green-blue sparks was emitted.  
  
"Guess not. here, phoenix, ten inches, very pliable, yew. How's that?"  
  
The wand gave off a fizzle and a small shower of sparks, but Kaze handed it back to him.  
  
"No? Okay, phoenix, ten inches, willow and oak, whippy. Expensive, I must warn you."  
  
Kaze picked it up, and examined it. It was indeed two woods and very intricate. A small carving of a phoenix was etched on its base. She decided instantly that this beautiful wand would do as well as any and raised her hand. It gave off a gorgeous haze of sparkling green and blue stars. Smiling smugly, she reached into her robe pocket.  
  
"How much?" she asked.  
  
Mr. Ollivander looked at the price on the box awkwardly. " That will be, er, fifty galleons."  
  
Smiling again, the woman pulled out a large bundle of gold and plopped it in his hand. "C'mon Hono'o," she said, and pulled the black- haired man out of the store, leaving Ollivander standing, blinking in disbelief. The door closed behind them and bells tinkled faintly.  
  
"Crazy, they are. Bloody crazy," the wrinkled old man muttered, and he set about cleaning the shop.  
  
*  
  
Hono'o was twirling his wand around in his hand, obviously very interested.  
  
"This thing is so cool, Kaze! I can see why there are so many mages and sorceresses here. Wands really focus your energy!"  
  
Kaze rolled her eyes. "Hono'o, for the love of Kassn keep it down. You're acting weird. We can't make impressions."  
  
"I know, but it's so easy to do magic like this!" He gave the wand another flip and one of the legs on a booth nearby vanished. Jars and jars of bizarre objects rolled off the table and into the street.  
  
Kaze glared menacingly at her partner. "Sorry about that!" she shouted to the booth owner as she used her wand to place all the jars back up on the booth and to conjure up a new leg. "New wands."  
  
The storeowner was staring daggers at them.  
  
"Eh.heh.er, we'll be on our way now." said Hono'o. "C'mon Kaze!" He grabbed her elbow and set off on a jog down the street. It was getting decidedly less crowded and much more dingy as they progressed. When they finally slowed to a walk, they were surrounded by dark and grim looking stores.  
  
"Where are we now?" Kaze asked, glaring angrily at Hono'o.  
  
"Knockturn Alley.Don't look at me like that! It's a perfect place to look!"  
  
Kaze snorted. "I suppose you're right." She turned and looked about her, until her eyes rested on a store labeled, 'Dark Arts Books.' "Ah, a bookstore of evil. That looks promising."  
  
The two strode down the dirty, gray street, passing very strange, scruffy looking beings on their way. They could tell, by the way the passers-by stared, that they had never seen the likes of two young, tall, and reasonably good-looking magic-makers walking towards the Dark Arts bookstore. Reaching their destination, Hono'o pulled open the dark green door.  
  
"Mr. Malfoy, is that you again?" called a wheezing voice from the backroom.  
  
Kaze cast a nervous glance around herself. The shelves were filled with books with menacing titles like, Torture Curses, Hexes of Satan, The Curse of Crucio, Unusual Potions: Bottled Death, and He-Who-Must-Not-Be- Named: Incantium and Return. The store was impeccably clean, but the dim light and dark color gave it a damp, uncomfortable feel.  
  
A strange looking man hopped out of the room. He was very thin and seemed to be about fifty or so. His eyes were jet black and his hair a shock of white. "Oh do forgive me," he said faintly. "I thought you were.never mind. How shall I help you, friends?" When he said 'friends' he said it so viciously that it made Kaze shudder. The man smiled toothily, and she noticed that his teeth were yellow and crooked.  
  
Hono'o was un-phased. He went up to the counter and leaned against it, absently twirling his wand. Kaze grinned inwardly. Her partner could look very threatening if he wanted to.  
  
"All we want," he drawled, examining his wand as he turned it in his hand, "Is a little bit of information." Hono'o stopped fidgeting and looked at Kaze (who was fingering distastefully through the Voldemort book) then turned his black eyes on the shopkeeper. "Where are the biggest depositories of Dark Arts education?"  
  
The man looked a bit relieved. "Oh, everyone knows that! I'd say it'd be Drumstrang and the Slytherin house of Hogwarts."  
  
Kaze raised an eyebrow over the edge of the book.  
  
"Ah thank-you very much. Shall we be going, Kaze?"  
  
Kaze smirked. "Not quite yet." she said. With that, she whipped out her wand and shouted, "This store sells the manual of death! It deals in shadows and evil! Because of that, it shall be destroyed!" A flash of blue- green light rocked the store and it was immediately leveled, the pair hovering above the ruins.  
  
Hono'o smirked. "Unlike you to be so ruthless, Kaze."  
  
She shuddered. "You didn't read that book. But it did intrigue me.Harry Potter.hmmm."  
  
The two walked calmly away. In the ruins a message was shining in silver smoke, next to the unconscious shopkeeper:  
  
2.1.1 Thou Shalt Not Deal In Darkness.  
  
*  
  
Harry yawned widely, staring at his alarm clock. There was six minutes until he was fifteen years old. Not that that mattered, because he'd be fifteen and stranded at the Dursley's forever, if he couldn't get to Hogwarts. The boy set his head on his desk, staring forlornly at the big red numbers of the clock. Voldemort back in power, a Minister of Magic refusing to believe, no ride, no owls, and practically being a slave in his home. it very was depressing.  
  
Five minutes.  
  
Harry squeezed his eyes shut. Of course, being disconnected from his friends and weeding the Dursley's garden was the last things he should be worried about. Voldemort was back, good lord was he back. The images of Cedric ashen-faced and muddy, lying dead on the ground flashed in his mind. His scar gave a brief twinge.  
  
Four minutes.  
  
And then there was Cho. Poor Cho. he knew now that they were never meant to be; no matter how much he wished, they would never get together. He wrapped his arms around his body, his eyes burning. How stupid were all those naive daydreams about marriage, kisses, and love! How ridiculous were those not-so-innocent nighttime fantasies about her!  
  
Three minutes.  
  
Of course, there was Hermione. She was his friend, but Harry knew that he could love her truly and fully. She was intelligent and even beautiful when she tried, but she was also kind and courageous. She was always there for him. She was gifted.but it would also never be. As time went on, it became more and more obvious that Ron loved her, more than liked, but really cared. He loved her, and Hermione was beginning to love him back.  
  
Two minutes.  
  
Ron. His best friend. Harry cared about him deeply, and Hermione perhaps more so. However, how would he react when his two best friends coupled up, as they were bound to do? How could he stand his best friend kissing his crush-no, his love? Harry was beginning to feel desperate for true love. The two girls he cared about were being whisked away by luckier boys.  
  
One minute.  
  
Damn Voldemort. He took away Harry's parents, the chance he had with Cho, his godfather's livelihood, and might very well take away his friends and Hogwarts as a whole.  
  
A rapping on his window distracted Harry from his thoughts. The boy jumped up and pressed his face to the cool glass.  
  
"Hedwig?!" he gasped, opening the window. "Why are you here?" The owl hooted indignantly and fluttered onto his bed. A package was tied to her foot, as well as a letter.  
  
Harry grabbed her water dish, opened his door, tiptoed to the bathroom, and filled the dish with water. He it in front of his owl, and untied the package.  
  
Dear Harry, (read the letter)  
  
Are you having a good summer? I am, they made me a Perfect! Oh, guess who else is a Perfect. You! *hugs*  
  
In the letter from Hogwarts I was sent, Dumbledore told me to owl you, to see if you need any help getting away from your aunt and uncle. My parents would be glad to drive you, and the Dursleys wouldn't be too bothered by "normal" people, would they?  
  
Enclosed is a little gift. Owl me back! Have a good rest of summer!  
  
Hermione  
  
If Hermione were there, Harry could've kissed her with joy. Of course, Harry would've liked to kiss her anytime.but no matter. He could get to Hogwarts! The teenager flopped down on his bed and took the package in his hand. With a shrug, he ripped off the brown paper wrapping and opened the box.  
  
Inside was a glorious selection of candies, though they were muggle-made. Twix, M&M's, Skittles, and even a small box of chocolate-covered cherries filled the box nearly to the brim. In the corner of it was a small cake, about 5" in diameter, with the words "Happy B-day Harry!" iced on it. There was also another box fit inside, brightly wrapped. Harry picked it up and opened it. Out fell another note.  
  
Harry,  
  
I hope you realize I had to smuggle all this candy in without my parents knowing.This gift is the only wizard-made one in the package. I hope you don't mind the other muggle stuff.Happy B-day!  
  
The boy looked at the box in his hands. It was a camera.  
  
"Cool." he breathed, gingerly handling it. He knew that the film would come out as moving when he developed it.This also was, apparently, a very expensive model. Harry resolved to hug Hermione when he got to Hogwarts and give her something very nice for her birthday.  
  
Hedwig nipped his ear to get his attention and held out her leg. Yes, I should tell her I desperately need a ride, Harry thought. He dug around in his desk drawer until he found a quill, ink, and some paper.  
  
Hermione,  
  
You have no idea as to how much I love your gift! Thank-you so much!  
  
I really, really need a ride. I don't know how the muggles will react when if they see your parents.You know my address, right? Tell your parents to take their better car and dress up if it's not too much trouble. My uncle will react better that way.  
  
Thank-you so much!!!!!!!!!  
  
Harry  
  
Harry smiled, tied the letter to Hedwig's leg, let her out, and surveyed the room. He'd have to hide the candy so Dudley couldn't find it looking about, he decided that his trunk was as good a place as any and stuffed the box inside of it. Closing the window, while munching on a Twix bar, he put away his quill and turned off the light. With a jolt, he realized he'd been fifteen for five entire minutes. Of course, they had been the most wonderful five minutes of the summer. With a contented sigh, he fell asleep.  
  
*  
  
Ron was strolling along Diagon Alley, waiting for Hermione and Harry to show up. He looked miserably at the single sickle he clutched in his hand. His family had had money troubles for as long as he could remember, but this year was the worst. They had completely emptied their bank account, Mr. Weasley was not making as much money as he used to (the recent attacks that were assumed to be from Voldemort by the Ministry, though they were covered up, had caused a recession), and he had outgrown all his robes beyond repair. Sitting down on a bench near Flourish and Bott's, Ron sighed dejectedly. He all too clearly remembered this day three years ago, when Harry had gone down to his vault. It was stacked full with thousands and thousands of galleons, and millions of sickles and knuts. He was probably almost as rich as Draco Malfoy! Speaking of Draco, Ron thought angrily, I hate to think how poor Ginny is going to get teased for her small robes this year. And Harry, for beating Voldemort when Mr. Malfoy is in his inner circle."  
  
"Ron! Ron!" came a voice from across the street. The boy looked up to see Hermione waving and hurrying up to him, Harry trailing behind. Hermione stopped in front of him, breathlessly running a hand through her hair. "Gee!" she remarked. "You and Harry are a whole half-foot taller than when I last saw you! And, of course, I have stayed the same size for decades." The girl hugged him round the middle, causing his ears to flush bright red.  
  
"Uh, hullo. to you too, Herm." Ron stammered, dazed by her hug.  
  
"Good to see you Ron," said Harry, noting his friend's red ears (He was sure he'd had much the same reaction when Hermione had hugged him too).  
  
"So, where shall we go first?" the girl asked, standing on tiptoes to survey the scene. "How about the bookstore, I need some good reading material as well as this year's textbooks."  
  
"That's Hermione for 'ya!" Ron sighed, recovering himself. "Magnetically attracted to books."  
  
They all laughed and walked merrily to the store.  
  
*  
  
Hermione glanced at Ron. His red hair, which (she noticed) was darker and longer than last year was hanging over his eyes. He was perusing a rack of books on Quidditch, thoroughly absorbed. She took this moment to examine him more carefully. He was still tall, and rather gangly, but he had grown into his body more. The teenager knew that she had done so long ago, thus her puzzlement of two years ago as to why she had male best friends, yet no attraction to them, was solved. They had simply been little boys. She had seen Krum last year as mature (which he was), handsome (which he was), and intellectual (which he was not), due to his large stature and refined speech. Now, however, was completely different, even if only one year had passed. Harry was bigger too; still skinny, but muscular in a sort of whip- like fashion. Ron had long limbs, a handsome and mature face, and a big build. As she gazed at him, her stomach fluttered uneasily. Blushing furiously, she turned away.  
  
After picking out her book (The Foundation for Magic), Hermione rounded up the two boys. "We ought to get our school books," she told them, as she marched over to a display marked, "The complete Hogwarts booklist! All levels! All subjects!" She and Harry perused the stand, searching for their Defense Against the Dark Arts textbooks. However, Ron stayed aside, his face shadowed.  
  
"Ron, how come you aren't getting your books?" Harry asked, looking up and noting his friend's troubled expression.  
  
The red-haired boy mumbled something incoherent under his breath.  
  
"Um.I already have them." he murmured, his ears bright scarlet.  
  
Hermione furrowed her brow. "No you don't. This book was only published five weeks ago and you told me you hadn't been out all summer." She gave him a troubled look. "What's wrong, Ron?"  
  
Ron sighed, then beckoned them into a more secluded area of the store.  
  
"My family is broke," he muttered, hanging his head. "I need new robes, and I'm saving up my money for them."  
  
Hermione felt a stab of inexplicable remorse. Poor Ron! She had known his family wasn't well off, but broke? She glanced at Harry. His face was shadowed and the scar on his forehead crinkled in thought. The girl could tell that he was debating if he should offer to buy the books for his friend. He obviously had the money.  
  
"Listen, Ron. It's just because your parents have a lot of kids. I'm sure you guys will get better! All families have rough patches!"  
  
"Not the Malfoys." he spat, his hair falling over his eyes.  
  
"Well, you can't exactly say they aren't rich, but I'm sure they've had some hardships. Besides, they got it off of Vol- er, You-Know-Who and inheritance! Your family has to actually earn their money!" Harry said, in an effort to console him.  
  
Ron sighed, covering his face with his hands. "But it's not the same. he murmured, staring at the lights overhead.  
  
"I'll let you use my books," Hermione offered.  
  
"Thanks." Ron said. He turned away. "You guys ought to go pay for those." he glumly walked towards the register.  
  
Harry and the girl exchanged dark looks. Harry shrugged as if to say, "Well, we tried," and they followed their miserable friend up to the counter.  
  
*  
  
The bell at the door jingled. Three teenagers walked into the robe store, the red-haired one looking decidedly depressed. The fitting woman shrugged and, through a mouthful of pins, shouted, "Yo, Celestia, customers!" She jabbed a pin into the black cloth of a robe she was fitting on a girl and turned to the trio. "Just one second please."  
  
They all nodded.  
  
"So," the woman (whose name was Trillium) said, continuing her conversation with her young customer. "Your goin' to Hogwarts?"  
  
The girl nodded. "Yeah. I'm transferring into fifth year. My caretaker goes to Drumstrang and he used to home-school me. He says that I have to go to school now, because he's taught me all he knows. He's gonna go to Drumstrang for a while."  
  
"Ah, how exciting. Those kids look about your age. I bet they go to Hogwarts. You might want to introduce yourself to them. Speaking of introductions, what's your name?"  
  
The girl let out a yelp as Trillium stabbed her with a pin.  
  
"Oh sorry," she murmured. "Your name?"  
  
"Thrush."  
  
"Oh that's pretty. Like the bird?"  
  
The girl nodded enthusiastically, her blonde hair bouncing.  
  
Trillium stepped back. "I think you're done! Have a good time at school, okay?" She placed a large, black, pointed hat on top of Thrush's head. "C'ya!"  
  
The girl walked off, adjusting the hat. "I hate pointless conversations like that." she muttered under her breath, then set her eyes on the two kids who were talking as their friend got fitted for robes. She took a breath, then walked up to them. "Hi," she said, smiling weakly. "Do you guys go to Hogwarts? I'm transferring there this year."  
  
The two stared at her for a moment and the boy quickly batted his bangs over his forehead. The girl's face broke into a big smile.  
  
"Hello, it's nice to meet you! We do go to Hogwarts," she said. "My name's Hermione, that over there is Ron-" She jerked her head towards the boy getting fitted. "-And this is Harry Potter."  
  
Thrush quickly turned to look at Harry, who was glaring at Hermione. Her bright blue eyes narrowed for a split second, then relaxed. "Nice to meet you, Hermione, Harry. My name's Thrush."  
  
The three sat down on the bench that ran along the store's inside wall. Harry seemed relieved that she hadn't made a big deal over his history, like most people did.  
  
"So," he said, politely smiling. "Where are you transferring from?"  
  
"I was home-schooled. What houses are you three in?" Thrush glanced over at Ron.  
  
"All three of us are in Gryffindor," Harry replied.  
  
"Where do you want to get sorted into?" Hermione inquired.  
  
Thrush thought for a moment. "Any of them would be okay. Slytherin would be the best."  
  
It was astounding to watch Harry and Hermione's demeanors change so quickly. The boy looked almost rageful, the girl disappointed.  
  
"You really don't want Slytherin, Thrush. It's pretty bad. The people are horrible." said Hermione, frowning slightly.  
  
"Well, I dunno. I met Professor Snape over the vacation when I took the entrance exam and-"  
  
"You like Snape!?" Harry cried incredulously.  
  
"No, I hate him."  
  
"Then why go into the house where he's head? It makes no sense," Hermione asked skeptically.  
  
"Well, he is much easier on the student's in Slytherin. Since none of the other teachers are prejudiced against other houses, you get higher grades if you're in Slytherin. You can do well in.what does he teach- oh yeah, potions, whereas Gryffindors of the same level will do worse. See?"  
  
"Yeah, but you have to spend the year with those horrible people. Not a single Slytherin has been anything but a Dark Wizard!" Harry protested.  
  
"A title doesn't determine your destiny." Thrush looked absently out the window. "Anyway, it really doesn't matter. Shall we move the topic elsewhere?"  
  
The two nodded and were silent.  
  
*  
  
"That Thrush girl was weird," Ron remarked, after they had all had a butterbeer and bid her goodbye. "Nice, but kinda not all there if you know what I mean."  
  
"She was really smart," Hermione said, shrugging. "But I know what you mean. kind of loco." She looked into the crowd at Thrush's fast retreating form. "I do hope she's in Griffyndor."  
  
The trio all nodded, turned, and disappeared into the throng, anxiously awaiting September 1st.  
  
________  
  
*wipes sweat from forehead* You have no idea how long that took. The next chapters won't be quite so.er.lengthy, or else you'd be waiting a month between installments. I wanted to make this chapter up to Thrush's sorting, but I was too impatient. You do know who Thrush really is, right? Yeah.  
  
Please review! 


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